Crisp & Golden
by Jessica-Doom
Summary: He was being played like a well-tuned violin. (Or, perhaps, something less graceful like a tuba?) And it was just so easy to let it happen…. Especially when those lips tasted so decadently of icing sugar and the ghostly tang of raw ginger. "We're talking about this." It was Harry's last attempt. It was futile. (( A sequential 31-day Drarry challenge. #Writober ))
1. Spice

**A/N: This story will be told in 31 parts throughout the month of October. It is written as part of Writober, as advertised in the group "DRARRY: fanfiction and fanart". No, it will not be posted daily because I just don't have the time in my life for that. But I will be adding each part as I finish.**

* * *

_Draco is baking…._

A wave of nutmeg, cinnamon, and caramelized sugar hit Harry the instant he walked through the front door.

_Draco is baking…. I should run._

After three years, he knew exactly what that particular warmth of Grimmauld Place meant. He knew it meant he should leave while he still had the option to be selfish. Before this became a _thing_. Before he was sucked in to swirling vortex of Draco's drama. Before they likely had another fight because Draco couldn't present his feelings like a normal human being.

One could argue Harry wasn't much better if he was thinking of running away from the inevitable blast of those feelings…but he chose not to think too hard about that.

"Potter?"

He'd shut the door before he even stood a chance to leave quietly. (And maybe Draco was right when he said Harry always stomped into the house like a rogue rhino.) Steeling his nerves and slapping a smile on his face, Harry waded through the spiced air and down to the kitchen. He didn't say a word until he was on the last step, peeking around the corner. "Hey…. What's on the menu?"

A bomb made of flour and icing sugar had detonated in their kitchen. Every surface was peppered with white and practically every dish was dirty. In the middle of it all stood pale, white Draco covered in that same carnage. He looked more spectral than usual. The first time Harry had witnessed this display? It was admittedly adorable. This time? The hundredth or thousandth time? Harry was rightfully scared. Or worried. Was there an emotion that fell somewhere in the middle?

Anxious?

"I was making spice cake," Draco stated, rather matter-of-fact. He always spoke like what he had to say was obvious. It was equal parts annoying and endearing.

Harry assumed he said '_was_' because said cake could be found in a still-steaming mess on the floor next to the bin. Cautiously, Harry walked over to inspect it. He stooped down, poking at it first before taking a bit of crumb and placing it on his tongue. Per usual…it wasn't good. It wasn't even passable. Had all the sugar ended up on Draco instead of in the cake? "Did it offend you?" Harry asked with what he hoped was a playful smirk.

"Yes."

Straightening, Harry walked closer to Draco. Examined him because he _was_ the bomb that went off in this room before reaching out for him. Gliding the pad of his thumb over a tear-streaked track in the powdery mess upon his cheek. "What happened?" he whispered.

"I think I forgot to put something in. Treacle? I can't remember if the recipe wanted treacle…."

"No…. Draco, what happened before you decided to make that Chernobyl-level disaster?"

Draco pulled a face like he was unsure if he should be offended. Like he couldn't process if he was the one truly at fault for the heap of cake on the floor. "Before? I went on your internet to obtain a recipe to make spice cake? Did you think I just pulled it out of the air? Maybe it would have turned out better if I somehow had…."

He was exhausting. His full name should have been Draco Most-Frustrating-Man-Alive Malfoy. Harry did his best to avoid rolling his eyes and forced his smile to stay earnest. "Draco," he started, stern and unwavering. "You don't attempt to bake inedible pastries unless-"

"Salazar's sake, Potter, cake is _not_ pastry…."

"_Unless_," Harry continued once his hand was securely fitted over Draco's mouth, "you're upset about something." The silver of Draco's eyes darkened as he narrowed them in silent response. "Are you going to tell me what that something is?"

Draco's response…well, it wasn't exactly a _response_ so much as another attempt to change the subject. A valiant attempt, at that. Since his hand was settled over Draco's lips quite lightly, it was easy for him to part them. It was easy for him to lean in closer and nip at the knuckle of Harry's middle finger, sending chills up his spine. It was easy for him to, with that one singular move, take over control of the situation. Honestly…Harry would let him take over literally any situation with a look filled with so many filthy promises.

When Harry's hand fell heavy back to his side, the corner of Draco's lips pulled up into one of those barely-there smiles. Draco was fully aware that this particular smile drove him _crazy_. He was being played like a well-tuned violin. (Or, perhaps, something less graceful like a tuba?) And it was just so easy to let it happen…. Especially when those lips tasted so decadently of icing sugar and the ghostly tang of raw ginger.

"We're talking about this." It was Harry's last attempt.

It was futile. Draco had him backed into a counter before he could find the wherewithal to put up a fight. And why should he want to? If Draco didn't want to talk about it, they wouldn't. The problem at hand, whatever that may have been, couldn't have been too severe if Draco was groping him in such a heady fashion.

Right?


	2. Dancing

They danced around the subject for a week. Harry kept trying to find new ways to sneak it in. He kept prodding at the wound, not allowing it to heal. It was his job to figure it out, right? He was being paid in all the standard ways. He was cashing in on all the forms of touching this job allowed. He was relishing in the kisses and actively participating in the sleepless nights. He was making toast in the mornings and spoon-feeding Draco ice cream at night.

But he wasn't performing his _job_ as Draco's partner to _earn_ what he had.

He was just…_taking_ it.

One week was his limit. Harry couldn't handle the silent strain on their relationship any longer. He couldn't let this phantom sit just in the corner of their vision any longer. He needed it exposed.

Frankly, Harry could have chosen a better time to be harsh. He could have waited until they were sitting together in private. But Draco was less likely to make a scene in public. Especially if they were somewhere he wanted to make a good impression.

Lucky for Harry (but certainly not for Draco), he was desperate to make that important impression whenever they were out in the wizarding community. It didn't matter the occasion or the destination, he was always perfectly civil. He was perfectly opposite of himself. Normally this was something Harry hated to see, but on that night? He was quite happy to take advantage of the serene façade.

And only too eager to take advantage of Draco's need to loosen up by plying him with enough cosmopolitans to turn him into a loose-lipped drunk.

"Come dance with me," was all Harry had to whisper to get Draco off his stool.

He was sufficiently pliant and gooey, looking at Harry with adoration-drenched wide eyes. "There's no dancefloor," Draco whispered back even as he followed step-for-step. He nestled into Harry's arms somewhere near the charmed jukebox. It was crooning out a soft Spellbound tune and Harry could feel the vibration of Draco humming along against his neck.

They loved this pub – The Half-Blood. They came here whenever an escape from reality was needed. A Muggleborn witch had opened it just shortly after the two of them began dating. It was the location of their third date – or fifth date, depending on who you were asking. (Only Draco counted their initial one night stands as 'dates', the sap.) The owner had crafted her cozily lit tavern as an amalgamation of both her cultures. It was filled with many Muggle items, all of which were enchanted in some way. The jukebox was Harry's favorite. There were songs from both their childhoods and Draco never hesitated to sing or hum along to what he knew while they ate or drank…or danced, which only happened on rare occasions like that particular night.

Usually Draco was much too self-conscious.

"Draco…."

He was warm and almost felt like a heavy blanket draped across Harry's shoulder. Harry held the back of his head, caressing his neck. He was so relaxed….

"Draco…do you remember that cake you made last week?"

Draco went immediately stiff in his arms, but didn't lift his head. It seemed whatever fear he had about Harry finding out about this hidden turmoil was able to stay hyper-fixed even while he had lost every single one of his other inhibitions. "Vaguely…. It was dreadful."

"It was," Harry chuckled, hoping that would help keep things light. "Was there…," he trailed off, almost too afraid to continue. The night had been so good up until that dangerous tipping point. He cleared his throat and trudged on. "Was there a reason you were aggressively baking a cake so far out of your depth?"

"What do you know of my depth?" Draco snorted. Harry bit his tongue to keep from biting back his response. Which was certainly not appropriate for public declaration, no matter how boisterously loud their environment was.

It was dangerously quiet between them for a few, long moments. The song had changed to some Muggle pop song about waterfalls, which was still fairly downbeat but might not be the most suitable for slow dancing. Harry pulled back and raised his eyebrow as he waited for Draco to look him in the eye. Or at least acknowledge that he was, indeed, hiding something. Even if he couldn't tell him what it was, Harry was willing to at least accept that much in that moment.

His hopes were ill-placed and far too optimistic. He knew Draco too well to think he might freely give up without at least a small power struggle. At least both their tongues were too relaxed to throw curses this time.

"_Malfoy_," he tried again, hand settled on Draco's hip. Trying to make it clear that he really only meant to help. "Look at me."

Draco didn't look up. He didn't even budge from his slumped position, but he did mutter a response.

Everything began to make sense again….

"Astoria's petitioning for full custody. I'm never going to see my son again."


	3. Laughter

Sundays were Draco's days with Scorpius. They were his only days and he was only allowed to have them on his ex-wife's front step. Rain, snow, or shine.

But Astoria wanted to take Sundays away. As he watched Draco with the boy from his mandated distance, this fact hit Harry straight in the chest again.

Draco and Astoria were well divorced before they'd started anything. Harry helped put the man back together again from the way that woman shattered him. Selfishly, he would never give up on what they had. But if there was a minute chance he could go back in time and stop the divorce? He probably would have. Three years later, and this woman still made him a wreck.

"How's he like the train?" Harry called over the distance between them. He was forced to sit at the end of Astoria's drive, the farthest he could get from the porch. Draco was kind enough to prop the door open, but they were still fairly closed off.

With a smile towards the doorway, Draco pushed a button on top of the train Harry had purchased for the boy. He'd seen it in a shop and didn't hesitate a second to buy it. Scorpius was obsessed with vehicles. This particular train, imbued with magic to bring it to life, sputtered and whistled before spewing a cloud of steam.

He didn't have to convey if Scorpius appreciated the present. His excited squeal did the job. The button could be heard being pressed again and again for five minutes straight. Each time the train whistled, the boy would shriek and laugh before yelling out the door, "Can you hear it, Harry?" Except 'Harry' always came out closer to 'Howie'. Draco said he had trouble with his r's.

Draco had a record.

Astoria was going to be granted full custody because Draco had a criminal record.

It didn't matter how adamantly Harry had fought to clear the Malfoy name after the war. It didn't matter that he was there to testify before the entire Wizengamot. (It didn't matter that doing so had given him nightmares about dementors for months.) The Malfoy family was still found guilty of their war crimes. It was still on their record even if none of them had been sent to Azkaban. They were _still_ branded with that stain for the rest of their lives for anyone to use against them as they willed.

That Mark upon his forearm, that one bad decision made under fear and duress, had cost Draco almost everything a human being should be afforded in life. It followed him around, feeling as if it were hanging over his head instead of fading away on his skin. He couldn't get a damn job because of it. Well…he could have gotten _a_ job, just not one he felt he was deserving of. Not that he was wrong – Draco Malfoy deserved to be redeemed enough to follow his career goals.

Draco was sure that red stain upon his record was going to prevent him from winning the upcoming custody battle. He was terrified he would never be able to hold his own son again.

"_She hates me for what I could never give her,_" Draco had sobbed into Harry's lap while curled like a kitten upon their bed. Once he finally told Harry, he was like a broken and gushing fountain. The alcohol was likely to blame for this. "_I tried so hard to love her, you know? I _did_ love her. We conceived a child together! Doesn't that go to show there was…at least some passion in our relationship?_" Harry had wrinkled his nose at what that implied, but nodded along. Draco had needed the encouragement more in that moment. "_I loved her, but I don't think she ever found a way to love me. She never wanted to marry me. I was…I was not a good person. And I was not a whole person when we married. She deserved better. Her parents could have chosen better…._"

Another loud bought of laughter brought Harry out of his own head. He looked up from the grass and found Draco watching him from the porch. Harry found a smile for him – he could always find a smile for Draco – and mouthed the words '_love you_'.

Draco had been told most of his life that he wasn't 'good'. He had been bullied into believing he wasn't worthy of love, a fact sealed for him by his arranged marriage. Since he was a child, he had been told what to believe and who to be. Who to make alliances with and who to avoid. Even now that they were together, there were still nights where he would ask _why_. Harry's love for him was never quite a strong enough reason. There was so much doubt in that man and it was Harry's goal to one day chip off the last piece.

They had a long way to go.

But Harry knew days like today helped. Every second Draco spent with that boy on his lap babbling to him about trains healed Draco in ways Harry never could. He could never be naïve enough to refuse to accept that.

"_If she takes him away from me, Harry…. I don't know what I'll do. He's a part of me Harry. I want him to be a part of both of us._"

Draco deserved better than just Sundays on the porch. He deserved to be whole and to feel worthy of love. He deserved all of that and so much more.

And Harry was going to get it for him.


	4. Boo

Harry knew he shouldn't have been there. At the very least, he should have told Draco. This was the type of thing couples discussed before plunging into. Going behind his back felt slimy and altogether wrong. But he was desperate to fix this. It was an instinct now built into his blood from years of being told that was all he was good for.

Not that he wasn't feeling proper guilty about it even still. His hand shook as he pulled the knocker, rapping it perhaps a little too roughly. Creating the absolute worst impression and setting himself off on the wrong foot entirely.

Every second he had to wait, Harry's heart beat harder. It was so loud in his ears it made his vision swim. Was this what it was like to have a panic attack? Was that what this debilitating feeling was? Or was he having a heart attack, instead? He was only thirty years of age! Could a man have a heart attack when so young? He supposed he didn't have the healthiest of lifestyles anymore…. Should he maybe work out more? He was getting a bit thick around the middle….

"Boo!"

Harry was never going to admit to anyone else that he jumped and maybe even made a high-pitched squeaking noise. He was too in his head by the time the door opened, which was only a matter of seconds later, that he couldn't hope to keep his emotions in check. Attempting to laugh it off, he leant down, hands braced on his thighs. "You gave me quite a fright!" he said through his shaky chuckles.

He'd never seen Scorpius up close, only in the glimpses he'd been allowed from afar. Well, and in photographs…the few Draco had of his son. The boy was much smaller than he had thought. Then again, he didn't know much about children. Was this average size for a three-year-old? The boy, peeking through the doorway, was grinning with glee. This was clearly the outcome he had been hoping for. "Harry?" he questioned gleefully. Even though they had never been so close, the boy clearly recognized him. Harry was counting that as a mark in his favor.

To keep that impression, Harry smiled as bright as he could and forced himself to breathe evenly. "Very nice to meet you, little one." He held out a hand to shake which the boy took with immense gusto and eagerly wiggled about. "Is your mum around?"

Scorpius looked back into the house, then quickly back to Harry. "You can't."

"I know," Harry said softly, catching the boy before he was inevitably about to say the word 'rules' with that lispy 'r' sound he made. He needed to stay whole and vigilant; he couldn't afford for his heart to melt right there. "You've been told I'm not allowed inside. Your father, too, right?"

"Daddy stays outside," Scorpius stated, matter-of-fact. Not only did he look the spitting image of Draco – except for his hair, which hung around his face in adorable curls Draco could never pull off – but it seemed he had also inherited that plain way of speaking Harry went starking mad for.

Harry nodded slowly, steeling his nerves one last time. "I would love to speak to your mum, rules aside. Can you get her?"

With a dramatic sigh, Scorpius leaned backwards into the house while holding firm to the door handle. "Mummy!" he shouted. When he didn't get the urgent response he was hoping for, he pronounced the word again, louder and more severe.

"Good_ness_," Astoria laughed, her hurried steps heard beyond the door. Her voice sounded thin and Harry was unsure if that was going to work in his favor or not. "What's the fuss, my darling? Oh, and haven't we talked about the door? What are you not supposed to do?"

"Answer it!" he declared.

"And what did you do, Scorpius?"

"Answer it…."

"Right. Well, your lunch is ready. Go on, Mummy'll be there in a moment."

Scorpius nodded, slowly hanging his head. "Boo," he whispered one last time in Harry's direction, a secret smile hiding beneath his growing sadness.

With a wink, Harry threw a hand up over his heart like he'd been scared again. "Go on," he whispered.

"_Gods_, Potter, what do you _want_?"

Right. Back to business. Harry forced a smile. Unlike her ex-husband, Astoria always spoke with flare and intention. Always punctuating her words with staccatos and sighs. She wasn't making this easy for Harry…. "I was hoping we could talk?" he chanced, smiling in a way he hoped was gentle and not reminiscent of a wince.

"We have nothing to talk about. Did Draco send you?" Astoria rolled her eyes, hands going to her hips. "What did he hope that would achieve? We don't recognize your fame as _extraordinary_ in this house, Potter. Your mere existence and bizarre luck doesn't give you any sort of free pass here."

Harry took a single step back before taking two forward. Draco needed him more than Harry needed his own dignity in that moment. "I know that," he sighed, nervously raking his fingers through his hair. "I'm not asking for any favors. I just…. I just want a chance to speak with you about Draco and…. Well, he told me you're filing for sole custody?"

"We don't need him."

"That may be…. But he needs Scorpius and-"

Without giving him a chance to further explain, Astoria slammed the door closed in his face. Well, not _in_ his face because he couldn't quite will his body to get close enough. He knocked again, loud and demanding, but no answer came. The door remained firmly closed and firmly locked (yes, he tried the handle). Astoria remained firmly closed off to the idea of even having one simple conversation with him.

He was starting to wonder if this wasn't going to be as simple as he had hoped. He was starting to wonder if what he had heard wasn't perhaps the whole truth. If Astoria was this adamant against Draco seeing his own son, what had he done? Was there a more painful reason for the divorce than just that they were unmatched?

"I'll come back tomorrow!" he called towards an open window, grinning when Scorpius appeared at it for a moment and shouted the word 'boo' again before the curtains fell closed on his face. "I'm going to keep trying…." Draco still deserved as much, even if he might be a liar.


	5. Time

It took Astoria four days to give in. And when she did, her resignation was accompanied by an exclamation of "For _fuck's_ sake, Potter!" so loud he was sure every one of her neighbors heard it. Harry half bowed his head, half tilted it to the side. "Just get inside," she sighed heavily and rolled her eyes.

For half a second, he played with the idea of just leaving. Just giving up. This wasn't his fight to win, anyway.

For half a second, Harry thought about being selfish. But he shot it down as soon as it came, pushing inside the house and closing the door behind him. There was no looking back – he had to save the day. He _always_ had to save the day... didn't he?

"Scorpius isn't here." Harry looked up at Astoria, gracefully sitting on the settee. How could someone appear so perfectly purposeful even when perfectly relaxed? But she wasn't relaxed...not fully. Her jaw was tensed. She was angry. Or was that, maybe, just her face? "So, if you're here _just_ because you want to con your way into speaking with him, you may as well leave."

Harry laughed before he could catch it, which he quickly tried to turn into a cough. "That's not why I'm here..." Astoria raised an eyebrow. "Can I sit?" She pulled a face, looked him over, then rolled her eyes again before gesturing to a chair across from her. "Thanks." Harry sat as delicately as he could, just perched on the edge. "I just wanted to talk to you."

"You want me to change my mind about revoking Draco's custody." It wasn't a question.

"Yeah... But I also I want to know, I guess, why you would do it in the first place?"

"He hasn't told you." Again, not a question.

Harry slowly shook his head back and forth. There was a lot Draco had never told him. He had never detailed how involved he had been in the war. He had never answered him on whether he had ever killed anyone. He rarely talked about his childhood or his school days. Overall, Draco didn't talk. Most often, that worked for them. They could find plenty of other things to do in the early hours of the morning besides _sharing_. Although he was starting to think maybe they should try and change that...

Having been married to the man for five years, Astoria also seemed to know of Draco's proclivity for privacy. "Of course he hasn't. He _wouldn't_." She sighed again, long and dramatic while her gaze settled at a spot just over Harry's head. "You're going to think me a gossip..."

Harry stayed silent, allowing Astoria to gather her thoughts. It took him a moment to realize she may have been holding back tears, her jaw clenched even tighter than a few minutes previous. What had he just walked himself into...?

"Draco wasn't always the person you ended up with. You know that better than anyone, I suppose..." Harry smiled faintly at this and nodded. He had witnessed the worst side of Draco Malfoy more times than anyone, he was sure. "Draco is filled with violence, Potter. And if you've not seen that in the years you two have been together..." She trailed off, throat bobbing as she swallowed hard. "Then I'm glad things have changed."

Astoria's eyes snapped to meet his so quickly Harry had to look away from the intensity behind them "What _has _he said about what happened between us?"

For a moment, Harry waited and thought. He didn't know much...and what he did know was vague. It was starting to appear like he didn't really know anything at all. "It was an arranged marriage and the two of you grew apart. Or never clicked in the first place? Scorpius was only a few months old when you filed for divorce."

"Much to both of our parents' disapproval." Astoria's mask slipped again and she trained her eyes on her hands. They were wringing nervously in her lap, putting further on edge. "I'm not saying he's a bad person. Don't come back and twist my words on me – that is _not_ what I'm saying. But...

"Draco used to drink a lot. When he drank, sometimes things would get violent. Scorpius was born premature and he... Well, he almost didn't make it. That was Draco's turning point and I do honestly believe rehab helped him manage his emotions better. I don't know if he drinks anymore-" Harry tried his best to keep stone-faced, not wanting to betray Draco by giving him away while Astoria surveyed him. She shook her head, waving the thought away. "If he does, then I do hope he's never showed you that side of him.

"Scorpius was premature...because Draco pushed me while I was pregnant. I fell against a table. _Hard_. It wasn't the first time, but it was the time that changed things. It scared him – I saw that. He refused to even touch Scorpius for the first few weeks after he returned. By the time he did...well, I had already filed for divorce. I was scared for my life and my son's life. But I suppose I did him a favor by allowing him the freedom to be with you, didn't I?

"Time heals all wounds, Potter," Astoria continued before Harry could weigh in on that heavy statement. "That's what they say, isn't it? But not all wounds can be healed. Time can't heal the fact that my son almost died because of something _he _did. I know I'm being selfish and I'm sure you can't understand..."

It was a lot to process. Too much. And Harry was honestly not sure if he thought Astoria was making a mistake any longer. If what she said was true... "Why now?" he whispered while raking his fingers through his hair. "Why are you taking Scorpius away from him after over three years?"

Astoria shrugged, flashing him a brief pained smile. "I met someone. Again, I know you won't understand...but this man could be a better father. He could be someone I wouldn't worry about leaving my son alone with. I've wrestled with this for some time now and I since we're now engaged..." It was the first time Harry had noticed the flash of a ring upon her finger. "I need to give my son the father he deserves. Draco isn't that man. I'm sorry, but his time is up."

There really wasn't a good way to argue that. Not that he blamed Draco for what the war had turned him into. Most of them had unhealthy ways of coping with the things they'd done. The things they'd _had_ to do. But that didn't invalidate how Astoria felt, either. And that's what it all came down to.

Harry stood. His time was up. His time had been up before he'd even stepped foot in the door. "Thank you for telling me," he muttered to his shoes. "I know it's not my place considering what you've told me…. But if you're still thinking about your decision, please know that Draco is indeed a different man. He loves that boy more than anything in the world. I don't want to see what he'd become if you took even the small time he has with Scorpius away from him." He didn't wait to see if Astoria acknowledged his words. He simply made for the door and quietly let himself out, head spinning too much to even manage disapparition.


	6. Lollypop

"Since when do you want my input on your relationship?"

Harry wasn't convinced he even _wanted_ Hermione's input. But he was desperate. And...he admittedly needed someone who would be real with him. If he wanted a sugar-coated talk down from his unreasonable ledge, he would have gone to Luna. (Luna _loved _Draco. Or, more realistically, Luna loved trying to solve him like a puzzle.)In that moment, though, he needed a harsh dose of reality. He needed her to bring out that 'I told you so' and smack him in the face with it.

"Hermione_...please_."

Hermione swallowed whatever quick-witted retorts she had left and nodded. "Let me..." She looked around her desk at the stacks of waiting files, then to the floor where her daughter Rose was keeping herself busy with a stack of blocks. "Give me just a few minutes, Harry," she muttered and stood to scoop Rose up in her arms. "Anita!"

"Yes, ma'am?" Hermione's secretary, admittedly the most attentive in the office, wore an '_I would do anything for you_' smile on her soft and pleasant face.

"Auror Potter and I have a few things to discuss. Could you keep Rose busy for a bit?" Hermione asked. Her voice was strained – she wasn't shy about how difficult it was for her to allow anyone else to take care of her children. Allowing Molly to watch the infant, Hugo, during the day was degrading enough for her.

Just as chipper as always, Anita clapped her hands together and stepped further into the office. "Of course! You know, Miss Rosie, I just bought a _huge _bag of lollypops the other day. There is no way I could ever eat them all myself. Would you be able to help me with that?" She stretched her arms out towards the girl.

Rose, just as self-sufficient as her mother, wriggled until she was put down on the floor. "I only have _one_," she held up an adorably stubby finger, "lolly, mumma. Okay?" Only once her mother had nodded did Rose give in and follow Anita out of the room on her own two feet, thank you very much.

Harry carefully shut the door behind them. "I can come back later if you need to finish something..."

"It's obviously important, Harry, if you're interrupting me while we should both be working." Very rarely did Hermione being the boss get thrown in Harry's face, so when it did he fully felt the weight of his mistakes. "I didn't mean that to sound harsh," she quickly remedied, sighing as she fell back into her chair. "I'm just still struggling to catch up after my maternity leave."

There was a better time and place to garner relationship advice. But Harry hadn't slept the night before and he didn't think he could fake things another day with Draco. He didn't think he could look at that man and lie to him, let alone be lied to _by _him, for one more second. "You'll get there," Harry tried to reassure, but his heart wasn't in it. "Look, Hermione, I just need to tell someone about this so I...," he trailed off, not exactly knowing what it was he wanted here. He just needed to say it out loud so he could gauge someone else's reaction. So he could see if he should be more worried about it all than he truly felt deep down.

Hermione's gaze followed Harry as he paced back and forth a few times. "You're scared," she pointed out, expression softening. "Well, now you have to tell me."

"I'm not _scared_," Harry snapped without intending to. He repeated, softer, "I'm not scared, Hermione. I just feel like maybe I should be?" He sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face, and also fell into a chair near the door. "Long story short, Draco may have some domestic abuse issues in his past."

"I'm sure you must have suspected Lucius to be a violent man..."

"That's not-" Harry grunted in frustration. It was so hard to say those words. Maybe if he believed Draco was still capable of doing something like what Astoria had told him, this would be easier. But he just didn't. He couldn't find that sort of cruelty in the man he had come to love. Was that just him being naïve? "I _mean_ that... Well, I've been told that...that he used to be the sort to throw his wife into walls. Draco, I mean. Not Lucius."

The room was deadly silent. A pin could have dropped and the sound of it would have easily been swallowed up by the darkness clouding the air around them. Hermione's face was flat – she was adept at keeping her emotions back until she was ready to share them. Until she had fully processed them. "Harry...," she started, still holding herself in check. "That's quite an accusation for someone to make."

"But?"

Hermione's brow furrowed. "But nothing. Are you expecting me to tell you I believe Malfoy would do something like that?"

It was Harry's turn to scrunch his face up in surprise. "You don't?" he whispered.

"Not if you don't."

They'd had this argument too many times to count. Harry had fought with his friends for three years about this man and his innocence. But now, all of a sudden, she was ready to see things from his viewpoint? "The thing is...I do believe Astoria. At least, I believe what she says happened to her. I know Draco's not that sort of person anymore. I confronted her seriously ready to make a case for him. She's taking away his parental visits... But I think she has a point, Hermione. She's scared. And, I guess, that's why I'm here."

"Oh." After those fights they'd had, she was clearly expecting him to blindly take his partner's side. Which he was sure spoke to what kind of person he truly was. "Oh, Harry...that's awful." Hermione stared down at an unknown spot on her desk for an awkward moment. "You know, it really wasn't your place to get involved, right?" she finally stated, still not looking at him.

"I'm honestly wishing I hadn't," Harry sighed.

"What do you want from me, Harry?"

_I just wanted someone else to know_, he thought. "I need to talk to him – he should know I know. Shouldn't he?"

"So you're really just coming to me to avoid talking to Malfoy?" In a flash of a second, Hermione looked irritated again. "Is that it? Merlin, Harry, go be a damn adult and confront your damn boyfriend. I don't have time for this."

"Good to know..." Harry breathed long and slow, gathering his thoughts, before standing back up. "Thanks for your time, Chief. I'll be taking the rest of the day as personal leave." He gave a tongue-in-cheek salute before yanking the door open with enough force to drive it into the wall with a loud _thunk_. Allowing whatever damage he left behind the chance to speak his frustration because he wasn't sure if he was ready to burst into tears or flames.


	7. Dust

Mostly in spite of Hermione, Harry did exactly the opposite of what he should have. He went home, as he said he would. But once he was there, the words wouldn't come. He took one look at Draco curled up in a chair in the library, soft and delicate, and pushed all of his worries to the side again. Not permanently...just for that moment. He needed to be able to see Draco in the light for just a bit longer...

"Did you actually get a lunch break today?" Draco asked, finally breaking the long moment of silence Harry had left between them. He didn't even look up from his book.

"No...I took some personal time." Harry sloughed off his jacket, comfortable in the toasty warmth from the fireplace. "I thought we could spend the afternoon together."

Draco smirked, stopping Harry's heart for a couple beats; he would never be used to that. "I don't know how that would be possible when I have so many things to do." Draco waved his hand as if to call attention to a pile of waiting chores. "There's the cooking and the cleaning and...and I simply cannot afford to fall behind. The master of the house likes things a certain way, you know."

Harry tried desperately to keep a straight face, but a smile eventually broke through. He took measured steps closer to the chair, dragging a finger along the mantle as he went. A thick layer of dust gathered over the tip, the evidence of which he hovered directly in Draco's vision. "I'd say you've already neglected those duties for long enough that one more afternoon can't harm anything." He was full-on grinning now.

"Are you going to punish me?"

Those words were sin and Harry wanted to fall prey to them so desperately. He careened forward, pulled in by the sheer magic of Draco. But that little voice in his head – _Astoria's_ voice – froze him in his tracks. Before he could stop them, the words "I have it on good authority that you like to be the one to do the punishing" were out of his mouth and he couldn't take them back. And they weren't playful. And they weren't sultry.

For a moment, Draco merely blinked up at him. Slowly, like delicate paper being unfolded, he rose from his languid pose in the chair. He pulled off the ribbon tying his hair back and carefully marked his spot in the book before placing it on the coffee table. All of this he did with short, staccato movements like maybe he was tensed and holding himself back. Instinctively, Harry took a step backwards. "Do I?" was all Draco whispered in response, his voice sharp as ice.

In that moment, Harry could see two available options. The first would be the easiest – laugh the comment off and try to save his relationship with an innuendo-laced quip. His conversation earlier with Hermione echoed in his head when he thought of the second option – confront Draco about Astoria's accusation. It was the right and most 'adult' thing to do. It was certainly the healthiest option. He shouldn't continue to try and pretend he didn't know about something so big and so private. If he was even able to do so any longer... Harry had never considered himself the most adept of liars.

Before Harry had the chance to make up his mind, Draco did so for him. Not knowing if he was about to see that violent side of his partner, Harry flinched in response to Draco's hands on his chest. The coming push was gentle, coaxing instead of forcing him backwards towards the rarely-used loveseat. A great poof of dust clouded the air when he made contact and the wood groaned beneath his clumsy impact.

The fear must have been plain on his face because Draco didn't follow him down to this position as expected. Where he had seen a glimpse of playful need a second before, that porcelain face was now serious and unreadable. "You flinched," he hissed.

Harry forced a laugh. "In my defense, you pushed me..."

Draco crossed his arms over his chest, breathing in and out so slowly he might have stopped altogether. "You _flinched_ like you thought I was going to hurt you. You haven't looked at me like that in..._gods_, not since we started fucking, at least." Somewhere beneath his hard tone was a thin layer of hurt. Harry could hear it. He knew what Draco sounded like when he was fragile. He was attuned to it now. This was, however, the first time _he _had caused Draco to sound like that in the entire span of their relationship.

He was still processing when he sat up, head falling into his hands and gaze firmly set to the floor. The cloud of dust had mostly settled upon the hardwood, mottling its beauty with a film of grey. After a long pause where neither of them spoke and neither of them moved, Harry eventually felt Draco's weight settle in next to him. One of his chilled hands settled over Harry's knee, squeezing gently.

"I'm genuinely surprised it took you this long to find out." Draco's voice was no more than a whisper, but it felt so loud in that moment. Like he was shouting and the whole house around him was shaking under the weight of his words. "Astoria owled to warn me. And-," his voice broke on a mirthless laugh. "And to let me know she hasn't made her final decision about Scorpius. She said, and I quote, '_Your _boyfriend _is both annoying and oddly persuasive._' She gave the word 'boyfriend' an aggressive underline and I'm not sure what she meant by that, but it was the first time she had actually referred to you as something other than '_Fucking Potter_'_._

"I want to be upset with you for going to her, but I can't find it in me. After all, I shouldn't be with you if I didn't have at least a small kink for being the damsel in distress."

Despite trying to hold himself together, Harry dissolved into a fit of uncontrollable chuckles. Which, given his precarious emotions, eventually turned into full-on laughter, bringing tears to his eyes as he gasped for breath. In the inevitable end, those tears flowed out of him on wrenching sobs. All of the fear and anger and betrayal he had been holding in swallowed up every rational thought he had, bringing him to shake with those sobs until he felt he had nothing left to cry.

All the while, Draco's hand never left his leg. The pressure was grounding and eventually enough to level him back out. "Sorry," Harry muttered when he felt he could catch his breath again. "I just…."

"It's a lot to handle," Draco supplied. That was the most massive understatement Harry had ever heard. It was almost enough to bring the giggles back around. "You're absolutely filthy, Potter, and not in the way I usually like you. Why don't you go have a bath. I'll put the kettle on so we can have tea and a chat when you've finished."

In no position to argue, Harry nodded obediently. He stopped for only a moment in the doorway on his way out to say clearly and plainly, "I still love you." It was important for Draco to know that nothing had changed between them.


	8. Control

Harry had scrubbed his skin raw and still didn't feel clean. The dust had washed away just fine, but beneath that was a thin layer of unshakable unease. And seeing Draco calm as can be? Didn't help in the slightest.

True to his word, Draco had arranged tea for them down in the kitchen. The comfort and warmth of the library was too gentle for the type of conversation they were about to have, but Harry wished they could still be up there. He wished he could go back in time just that small bit to before he had opened his reckless mouth and landed them here. Something felt broken between them now. He didn't think their relationship was in trouble in any way. No, it more felt like...well, like things were no longer perfect.

Perfect for them didn't fit with the true definition of the word. Perfect for them was messy and yet still pulled together in the roughest of ways. It was night sweats and sweat-filled nights. Snark and sass and sexual innuendo. They were two broken pieces who happened to fit together even when no one thought they would. Their relationship was built on pain. It was built on messy, unattractive snot-filled tears. But it was also built on happiness in unexpected places. The two of them shouldn't be together. Not a single person who knew them would have suspected they would end up together in the way they did.

And that was why they were so _perfect_ as they were. They were so wrong they were _right_. They were exactly what one another needed, found when it felt no one else could understand.

What worked the best about this relationship, however, had nothing to do with the (admittedly fantastic) sex or the equally matched extent to which they were both truly fucked up. What worked the best about what they had were moments exactly like this. It was the give and take of control. It was the ever-flowing push and pull of their tsunami.

It was strong tea laced with hard truths in the early afternoon of a workday.

It was unexpected.

Draco was waiting at the table when Harry finally made his way down. His hands were folded in front of him until he spotted Harry, at which point he gave a small smile and gestured to the seat across. Harry felt like a kid again. Like he was about to receive detention. The scars across his right hand flared with phantom pain at just the thought. He pressed his nails into his palm to transfer the sting and forced a smile back.

They didn't do this often. They didn't share with one another during planned out meetings. For the most part, they didn't _share_. What they gained from one another often came in uncontrollable outbursts or panic attacks. It was usually gleaned from trauma and accompanied by blood or tears.

Harry felt there was no control for either of them in a setting like this. He had to assume that although Draco looked level on the outside, he must be squirming inside as well. He was usually better at hiding his emotions and presenting the face he wanted to be seen.

Neither of them spoke right away when Harry sat down. Beneath the table, his knee bounced up and down, and above the table, his hands rung together. He was nervous and he was out of his element. Finally, he had to break the silence, interrupting Draco's steady pour from the kettle mid-drip. "I was honestly just trying to help. I didn't know she would come out and tell me something like this."

"I know," Draco said simply and resumed his pour until both of their leaves were well and steeping.

"You're really not angry?"

"I don't think so." There was that heart-stopping smirk again. "Are you?"

Harry honestly still wasn't sure what he thought of it all. He didn't know if he was angry with Draco for keeping the details of his failed marriage from him. He didn't know if he was scared of his partner's apparent penchant for drunken violence. He didn't know if he felt it was a good idea for Draco to see his son unsupervised as he wished. All he truly knew was that his brain was tangled with these messy threads of uncertainty. To keep things simple, though, he shook his head and sipped from his cup. He reserved the right to change his mind, should he end up finding anger in those threads later on.

"Then I'm going to go ahead and clear up that erumpent in the room." Draco didn't drink from his own cup, he merely stirred it with a teaspoon. Every few seconds, the metal clinked against the side and jarred them back into the present. It was oddly grounding. "What all did Astoria tell you? I want to fill in the gaps."

After a deep breath in and out, Harry recounted what Astoria had divulged to him the day before. It took him several long pauses and more nervous ticks than he could count to get it all out, but once every detail was finally clear between them, it felt like a massive weight had been lifted. Which would have been fantastic, he was sure, if he wasn't so sure that weight had been solidly planted upon Draco's shoulders instead. With every sentence he breathed, his partner's shoulders sagged just that much more.

By the end of it, Draco looked and sounded utterly defeated. "I spent a few months in rehab after Scorpius was born," Draco whispered towards his cup. He had ceased stirring its contents once the steam no longer rose from its surface, but he still wasn't drinking. "The war..." He cleared his throat, voice falling husky with barely contained emotion. "She was right; I did drink too much and too often. Every day. And I'm certain you're judging me for not remaining sober, but that is _my_ demon and I have it tamed for the moment.

"I'm happier now." Harry couldn't help the smile flashing across his face. "I don't feel the need to get drunk and wallow in my past. If I'm intoxicated, it's because I want to be not because I feel as if I have to be." Draco finally picked up his cup, sipping at it likely for something to distract him rather than to quench any sort of thirst. "The night where I took things too far and hurt the both of them was not my strongest moment, but I am grateful for it and the outcome. It was the culmination of my unchecked anger which led me to you, Potter. And I can't say I hate that."

If they were a tidal wave, rare moments like these were the point where they crashed to shore and broke. Harry was grinning now but he swiftly tried to hide it in his own cup. "Would you...maybe say that you _love _it?"

Returning that still obviously visible grin, Draco leaned in. "Harry James Potter, you know better than literally anyone just how much I love it." He paused, head tilting to the side coyly before adding, "And you."

Harry, feeling tender, reached for Draco's free hand and squeezed lightly. "Any other gaps you'd like to fill in?" He knew the words sounded wrong the moment they left his tongue.

"Does that mean we're done with our serious chat, then?" Draco returned with a wink, quick-witted as always. "Because I do have a certain 'gap' in mind which I don't mind filling from time to time..."

They hadn't even begun to cover the subject at hand. Harry was no closer to being settled in this new truth he'd been saddled with than when they had started. But Draco's suggestion was tempting. And that wandering hand of his was a welcome distraction... "You're disgusting," Harry hissed, even as he pushed into the contact beneath the table.

"Yes, well...at least everyone can consistently agree on my vulgarity."

They had plenty of time to discuss things further at a later time. In that moment, Draco needed to have the control and Harry needed him to take it.


	9. Best

Everything worth something to Scorpius was 'The Best'. Among the things that made the list were strawberry ice cream, bumblebees, crunchy leaves, and the silly way his shoes squeaked on the linoleum floor.

Draco also made The Best list. Scorpius made sure to point this out at least once an hour, grinning and giggling and glowing. And every single time he said it, Draco lit up to match him. They were beautiful, the both of them. Carbon copies of one another, luminous in contrast to the warmth of their autumn surroundings.

This boy was specifically created by the universe to make Draco shine. He was put on this earth to bring a smile no one else could elicit to that man's face. Scorpius was a miracle in a cherub's body.

Harry couldn't help but to agree with the boy that this day was, indeed, The Best. He'd never seen Draco so relaxed in public as he did with his child's hand in his own.

"I feel like his father," Draco whispered to Harry when the boy ran ahead to coo at a puppy. It was the most true and honest thing he had ever heard his partner utter.

This was the first day Draco was allowed a moment alone with his son. When he'd come for his usual Sunday visit, Harry waiting at the end of the drive, Astoria had pushed a small backpack into his arms with a warning not to 'fuck this up'. She warned him the consequence was never seeing his son again. She warned him four times before allowing Scorpius out the door.

They were taking full advantage of this freedom. Lunch in the park and then ice cream from a street vendor before an indulgent shopping spree at any store which might sell toys or trinkets for small boys.

Trains were the best and foam swords were the best and "Daddy, _you_ the best!"

And Harry never wanted that afternoon to end.

And Draco would never be as beautiful as he was in the moment where he was declared The Best in front of the whole world simply for being a presence in his son's life.


End file.
